The Worst is Over

Well, it’s happened. I’ve seen Fred again.

            Charlie and Marie came by our apartment last night, because the two of them were going to get dinner with Hannah and Lucy, and I was still working in the living room, since I got a little behind last Thursday and hadn’t quite caught up yet.

            Then there was a knock at our door, Lucy rushed to open it, and he walked in. And, as I suspected I would, I acted like an idiot. At the sight of him, I stood up like this was the nineteenth century and I was about to curtsy to him (thankfully I wasn’t that stupid). As Fred greeted the group waiting for him, I had a thousand feelings going through me. My nerves were on edge being around him, just like I always felt around him eight years ago. But the years had changed him—the pictures on Facebook did no justice to seeing him there, somehow even better-looking than when I knew him. I felt so flushed and queasy for a moment I thought I might have caught whatever my nephew had. And, I felt a bit deer-in-the-headlights, completely startled and unprepared. I just stood there, because I didn’t know what else to do.

            Charlie began to introduce me, but Fred cut him off. He said that I’d known his brother in college and had met me a few times before. This was new information to the rest of them. Marie, Hannah, and Lucy looked at me, shocked that I hadn’t remembered him before and mentioned that we had known each other.

            So I said, “Yes, I remember you now.”

            Then Fred said to everyone else, “So, should we go?”

            The group agreed and left.

            And it was over. I’ve seen Fred again, and so the worst is over. We’ve been in the same room, we’ve talked (kind of), and that is finished.

            Now that it’s over, seeing him again won’t be as bad. In fact, I say there’s no point in feeling what I felt at seeing him for the first time anymore. It’s been eight years. That’s almost a third of our lives. What happened has distance and like they say, time heals all wounds. 

            And now I’m resorting to clichés. But if it’s a cliché it has to be true, right?